These Are Me Links

At the bookstore in CastroI met you eye for eye-fullcatching your nervous glanceat the magazinesthe catch in my throatI fetched a book to distract mereading my heartbeats between the linesyou scratched your foreheadI smiled to myself, like putting downa really good book.

Untitled For Now

I remember back when I was sevenmy brother traced the lines in the palm of my handclaiming it would revealhow many children I would havehe studied the creases and said "none."

Could he predict my homosexualityor my pending lonelinesssigns mean something only in retrospectforeshadow is for stories predeterminedand yet my life is a game of solitairehand after hand without a hand to holdI tell myself I can hold my ownwho needs the complexity or complicationswhen I can keep it all so easy.

I read somewhere that we cannot tickle ourselvesbecause the brain anticipates, compensatesfor the pressure of a predictable forceI pondered this and my easy solutionin a life without surprisewithout the hands of anotherthat I cannot anticipate or control.